Blight
by Vahn Therron akaShi no Yami
Summary: Is Love the cure or the Disease? H/D slash. Harry is raped and Draco sifts through the ruins of their lives. "Where did we go astray?"
1. Prolouge: Follow You Down

Blight: Prologue: Follow You Down  
by Vahn Thorren (The Ugly Cheerleader) and RedHawk  
  
Warnings: H/D slash. An interesting' bit of violence and the introduction of character  
death. Some awkward flash back scenes. Nothing major yet.  
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He leads me. I took his hand, realizing just how sweaty my palms are a few  
moments too late. He doesn't seem to take any notice. He pulls me forward a few steps  
and spins around, facing me, grabbing my free hand. I take no notice of the scenery, he  
steps backwards pulling me forward once more. His hair is mess, crooked in the back and  
sticking up on the left side of his head as if he just rolled out of bed. He leans forward, his  
lips brush against mine for a brief moment. I feel him smile against my cheek.  
  
my whisper hangs in the air, impossibly loud in the silence. He looks up  
and I can't help myself stare back at those unnaturally emerald eyes. Relief is a warm  
haze like that feeling I get from the vodka I've started to drink since you... That's when I  
notice it. A fine thin slit divides the iris, then another forming a lopsided x'. The blood  
begins to seep out and pool at his lashes like tears. I jerk back in fear and disgust. That  
innocent joy I saw so clearly a few moments earlier is gone, obscured and blurry. Harry  
covers his face with both his hands, ashamed. My own hands feel so ...empty?  
  
He said he loved me... A almost indecipherable groan escapes him as he falls to  
his knees.  
  
I remember where I am again. Who he is and worst I remember his fate.  
His head jerks back up at me at an inhuman speed. They begin to reappear, countless  
scars. Like lace' he had cried one distant night as I had traced my finger across his chest.  
  
He said he'd always love me... The wounds began to reopen, he hugs himself and  
wails, his head bowed once more. I wrap my arms around his collapsed frame, knowing  
they'll offer little comfort. I hesitate, realizing just how easily the blood has seeped  
through his clothes. He wraps his arms around me. For a moment it's perfect again, the  
security of our embrace and the smell of his skin, his voice inside me.   
  
Then he burns, his grip tightens and I feel his fingernails dig in to my back. I'm  
thrown back a few feet. Flames explode around his feet, spreading around in waves. It  
looks like grass somehow, a field. Somewhere. They crawl up his legs, wrapping around  
his waist like a possessive lover. The blaze masking the ruined flesh. He lunges,  
struggling to speak. No words can escape him, his mouth is melting. He hugs me so  
fiercely, I cry out as my skin catches flames, as I make contact with charred palms. In my  
desperation I strike the top of his head with my fist, using more strength then I thought I  
had. It makes a sickening crunch as my fist sinks in to the boiling mass. Hands reach my  
face, entrenching me in fire and a vice like grip. Talon like fingers wrap themselves  
around my neck, serpentine and vicious. The digits find purchase in my throat, puncturing  
fragile veins, now limp beneath him.   
  
Is this what it was like for Harry? The thought distracts me for a second. With  
sudden fervor it reaches eye level with me. I feel what's left of his lips press against mine  
once more. Finally after such absence, I think to myself, my brain blinded by the pain. His  
mouth pulls itself open after much difficulty. I feel it's tongue enter my mouth, it's  
tangible for seconds as it enters. And then it's gone. Liquefied and flowing in a cascade of  
searing, bitter flesh. It's inside me, and all there is to see and feel is utter pain, heavy and  
black. Smothering me, I feel my body try to repel this poison as it chokes on the burning  
grease. I can't breath, no air, consumed by the raging flames that cover me like a funeral  
veil. My eyes, boiled in their sockets by the intense heat, see nothing. My mouth, I have a  
mouth no longer it long since dripped in to my scarred esophagus. I have one ear left. Voices echo  
and memory blends.  
  
* * *  
  
I wrap my arms around you, the blood a surreal vermilion cascade. I let it fill the spaces  
between us. It is the seal, the pact, the final kiss. My skin is hot, nerves burning, I cry   
tears of blood, just like you... The knife is slippery, I'm light headed. It dances across   
the flesh like my hands on your skin. It paints me red.  
  
* * *  
  
"You'll tell me you love me..."  
  
* * *  
  
"Draco...don't go..."  
  
* * *  
  
I'm intact, that's the first thing I realize. Second, that I'm alone, in my bed in my  
dorm. Alone, the word hits me first, solid and fatal. The open window, an indifferent  
moon glares back at me from where I lay.   
  
He's dead now, save yourself the trouble. He's gone and there's nothing to say  
about it. My personal mantra, said more out of habit than it's actual potency. I say it with  
an unconvincing shake in my voice. It's a lie, there is so much more to his death than  
they'll ever know.  
  
How could any of us know? The ceiling has no answers, it never does.  
  
  
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Well, you lucky people at Snitch Fiction/F.F.Net get the special revised version of Blight,  
which'll hopefully involve better character development than that of earlier Blight drafts.   
Check in ever so often as preexisting chapters will be systematically revised, reorganized   
and replaced. Please drop me a line at [Pinochio_Syndrome@juno.com][1], remember no   
flames but I'm open to constructive criticism. Feel free to point out any errors in spelling and   
grammar as I'm practically plebe'ing at this late hour. You can be a little mean if you want to,   
as long as you're witty and far more intelligent than I. (If you didn't just get that joke, forget it.)  
Anyway, I'm happy to be back.

   [1]: mailto:Pinochio_Syndrome@juno.com



	2. Remember

Chapter 1 Remember  
by Vahn Thorren & Unnamable Partner (AKA RedHawk )  
Disclaimer: I do not own below characters of said franchise in prior disclaimer. I relinquish such claims and delusions. The song used in this particular chapter is credited to HOLE. I have, on a lighter note, recently acquired Jerry Potter which is almost as good.  
Notes: Chapter two, dun dun dun. Whateva, not as if anyone is reading this so fuck it. Oh, how I wish you all would. No flames please. oki doki! Both of these scenes happened after harry's "encounter" and don't worry you're still supposed to be in the dark about all of that.  
  
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He's Dead?  
  
The past week has been an eventful one, though not without it's own tragedies. It would seem the death of the greatly feared dark wizard Voldemort would be a celebrated one, thought it has now been confirmed that this celebration will come at a cost, writes Rita skeeter. The tragic death of Harry Potter has officially been declared, by sources who will be left anonymous at request, linked with the demise of the underworld sorcerer. Unchallenged are rumors and speculation surrounding a disturbing note left by the youth which suggests a suicide pact on the part of Harry as well as Voldemort, which were both found in the most "compromising" of positions...  
  
* * *  
  
We're in Harry's room, Hermoine and I. She's bent over his trunk. Looking through it like Harry's inside, like the answer to all these questions of hers are hidden at the bottom. Wrapped in plastic With her name on it, written in bright green highlighter pen. It isn't, and I hope for her sake, she knows those answers aren't really there. She turns her head towards me, with a look of pure frustration on her (not so/maybe possibly pretty) face.  
  
"Must you idle here. Is there not anything else Draco could be doing besides lurking behind me in *this* room." her voice is cold, sterile is a good word.  
  
"No, he does not" I match her tone instinctually, acid and steel. I have every right to be here, she wouldn't know anyof tht of course... She turns back, slowly, as if fearful I'm going to pull a knife from my robes and ram the heavy thing in to the back of her skull.   
  
"...morbid...morbid girl." I think aloud, almost grinning at the humor in the remark.  
  
"If you have any better ideas." she snaps, misunderstanding the comment. Spinning back to her work in a violent fashion, she allows a string of incoherent curses escape her lips. Her hair shuddering in the inertia. Her shoulders slack in resignation and she reaches back in to his trunk. Removing objects she deems suspicious, handing them to the floor while I stand behind her, hands empty. I kneel down next to her. She shifts away. I carefully pick up a slender shard of mirror, the length of my arm, lined with fine rust colored stains. I drop it on the carpet realizing it's use, I decide not to mention it. Hermoine is already at her wits end.  
  
"Kinky" I mutter just to annoy her, fingering a leather glove she lays carefully against the burgundy carpeting. She looks as though she's ready to slap me.  
  
"Stop touching them." The gloves have chains attached to them, bondage gloves. "Fuck. Why are you here anyway! To smile and pretend you were his friend," She screams, her voice cracking as she runs out of breath. The tension eats her like fruitcake. She picks up a Cd case, takes a deep breath. "He's gone and your not making this any easier," her knuckles go white, her grip on the plastic is fantastic. She crushes the bloody thing right there, sending fine invisible splinters across the room and in to her hand. She rises to her feet, cradingly the wounded hand. "So just leave..." I sit there shocked. Tears in her eyes.   
  
"I...uh..." I stutter, my tongue numb and awkward, eyes sting a little.  
  
"Leave!" She shrieks, slapping me , smearing her own blood across the side of my face. My eye feels like it's going to explode. She's stunned. I can feel the red hand print glowing on my face, I blink.   
  
"I...."she looks almost regretful getting up, her rage expended, she flees. The door slams behind her, leaving me alone with all the abruptness and finality of her exit. I feel blood trickle down my chin. She split my lip. I look down at the Cd she crushed. My eyes blurred. I pick up the fractured case, pieces falling off landing on the floor like snow  
  
"Yes..." I mumble as I examine it. "I remember..." I fall to my knees before accepting the embrace of the floor, amongst the broken plastic and ill gotten relics of Harry's short life. I close my eyes, I almost hear the night itself, having since grown muted and thin. His voice too perhaps? Is it his voice, lost already to tension. Despair. Incomprehensible destiny, impalpable silence.   
  
* * *  
  
It's eleven something, we're in my room. He's in my bed. His head under a pillow. I sit there paging a textbook listlessly. Harry hums under my pillow.   
  
"Can hear those bloody hufflepuffs having their parties upstairs." I close the book slumping heavily on to the bed.   
  
"The wankers" his sarcastic tone clear through silk case and down.   
  
"Yeah"  
  
"You have anything to drink?" now free of my pillows he'd buried himself in.  
  
"Un huh" I pull a hip flask from my pocket, tossing it to him. he opens it, and sips, testing it. He grimaces.  
  
"Uh, whiskey?"  
  
"Yep" I respond nonchalantly. I lay down beside him. "I think I know this song" the beat hits us 19 stories beneath.   
  
"Hollow walls." he murmurs turning towards me.   
  
"Spooky school" I take a sip from the flask. I close my eyes feeling the blood buzz in my head.  
  
"Nice song."  
  
"Crash and burn  
All the stars explode tonight  
How'd you get so desperate  
How'd you stay alive  
Help me please  
Burn the sorrow from your eyes  
Oh, come on be alive again  
Don't Lay down and die."  
  
He shifts, lying on his back. I can feel him move closer ever so slightly. He groans something indecipherable through his pillow. I listen to the music, eyes shut. Hypnotized by the creaking of the bed springs beneath us. I turn away from him. He won't be ignored will he?  
  
"Hey, hey  
You know what to do  
Oh, baby drive away to Malibu  
  
Get well soon  
How are you so burnt  
When your barely on fire  
Cry to the angels  
I'm gonna rescue you  
I'm gonna set you free tonight, baby  
Pour over me"  
  
Indecision, is this what he needs? He's sitting up now I can feel the weight shift. His eyes on me, stroking my face like fingers. Scraping across my skin like claws? I try not to open my eyes, I don't want to see what I know I will. But I do. My eyes flutter open adjusting to the light, and I see his face. his body bent over mine. I feel the warmth he radiates. He glows. A smirk, on whose part I still wonder. Our lips collide, blinding and transcendent. I reciprocate unknowingly. Every nerve shot to hell, burned out. Lost in the distance between us.   
  
"Hey, hey  
We're all watching you  
Oh, baby, fly away to Malibu  
And let them swallow you  
Go and part the sea, yeah, in Malibu  
  
...And the sun goes down  
I watch you slip away  
And the sun goes down  
I walk in to the waves  
And I knew  
Love would tear you apart  
Oh and I knew  
The darkest secret of your heart."  
  
My fingers thread through ebon hair, his tongue explores my mouth with such anxiousness. His hips grind against mine in a violent impatient cycle, tearing guttural moans from my throat. My legs part, his fingers trace the length of my thighs. A hand, a weapon, an explosion of feverent passions. He grips my back, making small tears in my shirt. I turn my head, exposing my neck. Anxious lips find their way. Lips skate my collar bone. I find the lacerations, hidden o carefully beneath his sweater. I'll make him forget everything.  
  
"I'm gonna follow you  
Oh, baby, fly away, yeah, to Malibu.  
Oceans of angels  
Oceans of stars  
Down by the sea is where you  
Drown your scars  
  
He sits back up, straddling my waist. his right hand running up my ribcage. I look up, he fixes me with is spectral gaze, emerald and clouds. His face veiled by the shadows of my dungeon chamber. He bites is lips and brushes the raven locks from his face, exposing those forest eyes. He warps the space between us, I'm drawn to him, pulled, my thoughts and doubts and hesitations twisted and bleeding. Torn apart by his gravity, banished by his willingness, his need. For the moment anyway. My hands grip his wrists. I can feel his pulse, faster and faster. His breathing is hard, uneven. I could stop, and end it here. Push Harry off of me. I don't want him to do this. Do I?  
  
But I don't stop him, I never do. Fuck me.  
  
My arms curl themselves around his lithe frame, infinitely possessive, I don't stop. I pull him down, back on to the bed. What am I doing? He trembles as I roll him on to his back. His hands threading through my hair and come hither smile plays on his lips. An act, a shield, a delicate facade struggling to hide the tension. He shudders, still unsure, still afraid. He closes his eyes and looks away. Tears seep through, and trail down his cheeks. So like the scars he conceal with magic and long sleeves. False smiles and contact lenses.  
  
"I'll never hurt you like that..." I lean forward, his lips taste like oranges  
  
"...I know..." he whispers in the voice of a frightened child,   
  
"They'll never touch you again, I promise..." Do I taste the tang of old blood in his kiss?  
  
"...I can't be near you   
The light just radiates  
I can't be near you  
the light just radiates..."  
  
* * *  
  
I had the golden boy that night. I know I'll never again feel myself being torn apart, shredded by such delectable force. Never again will I know the pleasure of being flayed alive by the fury of his hands and tongue. The sensation of his flesh, exposed and pressed eagerly against mine. I know I'll live my life in a state of pathetic anti-climax after the night I received in to myself this carnal angel for the first time. That night I began the gradual process of bring Harry back to life. A process which would ultimatly kill him. Throughout the coming year, I'd be the one who gave him back his heart. I'd be the one who shattered the fragile creature in the end. I was empty afterward, having offered all that was left of my own wounded form of love in the maelstrom of our clashing bodies.   
  
I fucked him.   
I fucked him good. And that was that.   
  
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REVIEW GOSH DARN'T! REVIEW IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!!!!  
ARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
*runs off in to distance* 


	3. Hush

Chapter 2: Hush  
By Vahn thorren and RedHawk  
Disclaimers: Never have. Never will. Fuck off, I know!  
Notes: This was...Weird. I wrote this really fast. I'll rewrite it or revise. It's weird. It's supposed to be awkward and jumpy, since it's based on a set of flash backs, none of which are in order, just like memory. Heh. Something is strange though, I'll fix it eventually. (actually if you're reading this, I have fixed it so ta da!)  
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I remember your laugh. Melodic and sweet until it would hit that slightly nasal pitch at the end. Not the prettiest of sounds, I still loved it, it belonged to you. The corniest thing I'll ever let pass these lips. Lips you kissed so frequently, they belonged to you for a time. were you waiting for something to save you, to save someone even then?   
  
I remember the first day back from that fateful winter holiday. You were so quiet, so just off balance. Even I, your would-be tormentor, noticed the change. The things we always remember.  
  
* * *  
  
"Why so quiet Potter? Brooding over another set of parents dumping you on someone else's door stoop?" Quiet, Harry stares at the floor, he isn't listening. Hit the nail on the head did I?  
  
"Go fuck yourself" Weasely spits at me, jumping at the chance to act like the loyal lapdog he is. Really couldn't he come up with anything better? Ron turns, giving a Harry a strange look, he shifts awkwardky.  
  
"Why I'm flattered you fancy my *proportions* as those of such a great stature, though I'm afraid to inform you it's otherwise physically impossible." I say in such a matter a fact tone he simply mutters something unintelligible and looks away.  
  
"Speaking of latent homosexual urges, why have you decided to grace us with your presence?" Hermione's voice dripping with disdain.  
  
"Just thought I'd come and welcome my favorite group of peers back to the school" The smile plastered to my face like a shower decal. She should not have gone there. Refraining from biting the smug grin off her face, I turn and leave. Stupid mudblood.  
  
* * *  
  
I still remember the smell of your skin, all those nights just inhaling the scent of your flesh. Like cream and cheap muggle soap, you always used to to scrub yourself with the same brand even after you could afford better. It's essence lingers in my bed even now.  
  
That day, the way you were so defensive. In this place between stoic and nervous. A walking conflict. Even I, with my just got fucked attitude, could see. Something here was gone. A wound healing around something hollow. Like a missing limb, still twitching in shock. You were barely there. Blending, blurring in to the scenery, the questioning faces and the awkward silences. I cornered you later that day in that abandoned classroom you seemed so taken with. What about me made you finally open your mouth? Relentless teasing heals all wounds I guess.  
  
* * *  
  
"Oh really Potter, what has turned you in to this avid conversationalist, hm?" you say nothing, you just get up to leave. I side step you, blocking the exit. I brush your lips with my index finger."Is it perhaps you've found a better use for your mouth than to speak with?" You stop your attempts to get past me and slap my hand away. Finally going to say something are you?   
  
"Don't touch me, Malfoy." I don't get ignored. I'm far from done yet, pushing you back against the wall.  
  
"Don't you want to play, Potter?"You shove me off, with more strength than I thought you to posses. Falling to the floor, looking right through me, you lunge. Clawing at me, fierce and vicious. Kicking, screaming like mad man. You've really lost it this time, He's going to kill me I think to myself as my fist connects with the side of his face. Well I'll give you a struggle.   
  
"How could you, I trusted you! Why?! I'll kill you, don't you dare touch me ever again! Siri-s you fuckin-" He's crying. Barely forming the words to voice his anger. My knee buries itself in his stomach. I push him off me. Straddle him and hold him down with the weight of my own body. Which you could easily liberate yourself of. I throw a few more punches before I hear the sobbing voice.  
  
"What the f-"  
  
"Please, I'm sorry, I won't tell." I desist rather abruptly, surprising myself. He's covering his face with his hands, thrashing beneath me. I've torn the front of his robe open, exposing scar after scar. Wound after wound. Scattered across his chest in delicate crosses. Back and forth. Side to side. My eyes and thoughts linger longer than they should on the exposed flesh. You're shuddering, shaking, terrified. I recognize the reaction easily.   
  
* * *  
  
Your hair wasn't black, not really. Well it probably was balck at one point but the sun had lightened it slightly. It was just off black and I think I was the only one who even noticed, not even you.  
  
***  
  
"If you can't be a good son for father, you can be the best fuck for dear old dad. Better than any son you could ever be for me." He pushes my face in to the pillows, pressing his nose against my neck inhaling deeply. I'm on fire. I feel, my father, pressing against me. Kissing me? Oh hell. What the fuck does he thinks he's doing? Father flips me over, positioning me face to face. His tongue in my mouth. My father's tongue in my mouth? Am I in shock, is he kissing me? I'm not going to cry for him anymore, the bastard.  
  
"What the fuck do you think you're doing. I'm not one of your whores. Get you hands off me you disgusti-"  
  
"Hush." he says in such a quiet voice, epitomizing the command itself. I see his fist. The individual hairs quivering. The wind whistling past. The lack of sound in the room. I see it. I never feel it. I never will. I still cry. He'll always best me. He'll be sure. Never once have I been enough. Just don't cry for him. Never. Passive wrists submit. Just stop fighting it Draco. It comes in a flurry of thoughts, a collage of dislocated words and images. Lucius licks the tears from my face. No matter how hard I try, he cuts me open, hollows me out and fills me with his words, spite and dissapoinment, like sand and broken glass.  
  
"All I wanted was a father..." I whisper. It escapes me. I'm numb. I would never have let him hear me say that, ever. He'll alway's pour over me, own me.   
  
"Your father is right here, shut up and swallow."  
  
* * *  
  
With eyes so much more than green.  
  
* * *  
  
"Oh Potter, so you got roughed up. Get over yourself. We don't all have the pleasure of living in this tragic kingdom of yours." He snaps out of his fit. Looking around, realizing his location. I get off him quickly before it registers. He quickly readjusts his clothes, covering the fine incisions. Still on the cold marble floor.  
  
"Malfoy, shut up. You know absolutely nothing about me and my circumstances!" He adds the last bit when he realizes I'm looking, not at him, but at the countless wounds, barely healed. My gaze shifts, I'm looking at him once more. You'd be surprised Harry.  
  
"Enough to tell you to stop crying over it and buck up!"  
  
"Oh really. I guess you would, alll the boys you service!." I never thought he'd ever hit a nerve with such accuracy. Getting up to walk away. Tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, my anger welling up. Insistent, It'll remind me every time. Shut up and swallow Dad had said. The bastard. Stop wasting your time Draco.  
  
"Wait-" he cries, choking on the words, his hand reaching out for me. I make out an "I'm sorry" in his exasperated sigh. He grabs my hand pulling me back. Don't go. The anger is subsiding, replaced with terrible pity. He doesn't want to be alone. Even if it's me. I hate to think it, to know it, I understand. I get it. You'll regret this I tell myself. Well he sure looks good with his clothes undone like that, quickly shaking the thought from my head. Idiot.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere." Even if it's me, ain't that the truth.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dear Harry,   
How have you been, I have been in good health and times. I have acquired a cabin in  
the woods east of the school via Dumbledore. It would make the house warming that  
much better if you were here with me. Here is a ticket to Hogsmeade from which you can  
walk. I do hope to being seeing you soon.   
  
Sincerely Yours,  
Sirius.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Reviews? What do you think of this chapter? don't be too mean now. 


	4. Lovin' You So

Chapter 3: Lovin' You So.  
by Vahn Thorren & My Maybe Quite Possibly No Longer My Partner RedHawk  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own now, but I will so fuck ya'll. I even got it planed to the financing, "Harry Potter & the Attack of the Boy Crazy Porn Stars! an erotic thriller" hits stands this fall. See ya then Rowling! Bring it bitch!  
NOTES: The most difficult chapter to write and most graphic by far. I actually ended up asking a friend about their own experience when being raped, which I agree now in hindsight was way callous, even for me. But well, I needed the help.(only five more heartless bastard points till i own that easy bake oven!) So there. I'm still crediting my partner though I believe our partnership has dissolved. Well she was a lot of the idea crew so I'm still "luving" her. So go read on this sadder note. Sorry for putting you through that Pietro, hope Matt or whatever his face treats you write. Oh yeah review! (why do I bother?) as of this update she has once again become my partner (yay)  
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I push harry back to the floor. I come on like a starved animal. I call it eager. He shoves me back, punching me, hoping to break my nose. He fails of course. He's running towards the stairs. I snatch the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him back. I plant a kiss on his lips, finally mine. He shakes himself from my grasp, his palm hitting the side of my face. He keeps running. I grab a Vase off the table. It was early turn of the century I believe. I'd expected his head to be crushed in, Luck is with me I guess. He goes tumbling over the railing of the stairs  
  
"Cunt" I sneer. His thin form sails several feet in to the air, arcing at the peak of it's battle against gravity before plummeting down the flight of stairs, landing with a fabulous cracking sound. My words send him flying. He leans back against the banister.  
  
a scream  
  
I've broken his arm. He discovers too late, attempting to rise from his corpse like position. Harry shies away as I descend the stairs drawing closer. His eyes look beautiful in contrast to the pale terror of his flesh.   
  
does he know how long i've waited?  
  
"...Sirius, st-" My lips silence his protest, forcing his mouth open, I slide my tongue in to the moist cavity. Shock turns to fear in his eyes as tears begin to form. I'm doing well. His struggle is remarkable as I bind his arms to the banister with the copper wire I had left on hand, his right arm twists awkwardly. He kicks me with all the strength he can muster from his beaten frame. The wire shreds the tender flesh of his wrists drawing blood, it slides down his forearm. A vermilion cascade. I lick the metallic substance from his limbs, tasting the definite flavor of his sweat. I reach forward to caress his check, his teeth find my hand and he bites. The stupid whore. A back hand to his face leaves his body reeling, his face a product of fear and anger. I kiss him again sliding my hand down his pants, he moans , teeth clenched through my caress like a grin of a man long since dead. I withdraw   
  
he'll cry my name tonight.  
  
"Stop this you stupid fuck!"   
  
"You'll learn to regret that." I say in hoarse whisper. I retrieve the knife which had been knocked from my hand earlier. My fingers find there grip on his testicles and squeeze. The cry it elicits from the boy is fantastic. His head thrashes about fiercely keeping his lips from my reach, sending sweat and tears soaring in a fine spray. A quick punch to his stomach stops his convulsions. Harry sees the knife, he looks up at me. Understand the depths of my betrayal. The question all over his face. Why? I laugh out loud at the hilarity of his innocence. How like him to be clueless.   
  
"Because dear heart, I-want-to-fuck-you...,"I singsong. He looks more stunned by frankness than my answer. I bring the blade to his neck, making a thin cut along his collar bone. Eyes dart from the crimson river and back to my steady gaze. How I love this child. His breathing is fast and gaining pace as I begin to tear the threadbare tee-shirt from his body. Shivering in the cold. His skin is salty and flushed, my knife drawing blood, painting him red. Staining him.   
  
naked for me.  
  
I'll tear the pants from his legs and have him naked before me. Totally exposed under my watch and touch. I leave a trail of bites along his throat, ending at his right nipple Flesh so thin, easy to tear.He goes unheard, drowned out by the sound of shredding denim. He's full blast crying know, his pretty black locks plastered to his face by the sweat he's excreting more rapidly. I wipe the stray hairs from his forehead and kiss it.   
  
"I love you Harry." choking back a sob he looks up  
  
"I hate, you sadistic son of a bit-,"he screams as he lunges forward biting my ear, deepening the wire's claim on him. the boy's grip is strong, panic and fear have made him desperate. My blade finds Harry's right eye, eagerly mutilating the delicate cellular tissue. The scream. Long and high eggs me on as the knife scissors across his torso, leaving scars like lace in their wake. My cerise angel, crying tears of blood like some mythical prophet or stigmatist. Naked except for the sweat damp boxers clinging to his slender waist. I slide them off, he shudders as my fingers trail along the inside of his thigh. I suspect he is a virgin, innocent and inexperienced, but I'm sure Harry has an idea about what I'm going to do to him.   
  
i own you  
  
I part his legs without trouble, assuring him of his safety. I won't hurt you I say tenderly. He won't hear it, shaking his head repeating no. I kiss him once more massaging his arousal.   
  
"See you like it Harry, don't be so stubborn, it won't hurt. I promise. It feels good, see." He just shakes his head and sobs whispering no, pleading with me. doing all he can to push me away without injuring himself further.   
  
"I won't tell anyone, I promise, please just don't..."  
  
"You don't understand, it feels good. I love you Harry"  
  
"Please..."his final protest as I penetrate him, tearing muscle and conscious thought apart. He screams, he writhes, bucking his hips. The wire digging deeper in to his wrists. My knife traces his spine. Harry is tight and he moans and sobs and struggles and against my weight. To no avail. He cries out, for help and my mercy, how like a whore to beg. I suck the bite marks, I want so despretely for him to moan. I press myself against him, how pure the color of his blood seems as he climaxes. He arcs his back unknowingly, a moan so thick and heavy, it seems wrong being produced from his slight form. I bite his neck, dragging fingernails down his back. I'll kill you he moans. He looks lovely, violated and abused. My orgasm fills him, I fill him.  
  
Eyes puffy, his skin a exhausted alabaster. Looking anemic as he does, blood framing those emerald eyes. I knew I was in love with this other worldly youth.  
  
"I hate you." he states quietly, defeated, his only response.  
  
I hate you.  
  
I hate you.  
  
I hate you.  
  
I hate you.  
  
I hate you.  
  
I hate you.  
  
i'll make you love me harry potter  
  
A knife. A fist. I claw at him, tear at him, and mar his beauty. I hate you. I'll make it hurt like these unrequited passions. How long have I waited for you?! You bastard You stupid silly cunt. I'll make you hurt. I'll make you cry out my name. I'll make you swallow my seed and he will love me. He won't look at me. He just refuses me.  
  
i'll ruin you  
  
"I love you Harry." Shape him. Take him, watch him bleed and beg. He moans deliciously. I impale him, reveling in the salty taste of his skin. Delirious. I unstrap him he's slick with blood sweat and semen. I jab my wand deeper than necessary as I cauterize the wounds, hoping to hear him cry my name one last time before I go. He's unconscious. I kneel down and kiss once more before leaving. Kisses, knives, leaving scars in their wake.   
  
  
  
My cerise angel, how stunning you look enveloped in your own blood.  
  
  
  
I love you.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Please review, you know the drill. I'm thinking I introduced this sequence prematurely. I dunno. What do you think? 


	5. Escape The Shadows

Chapter 4: Escape the Shadows  
by Vahn Thorren and mostly Redhawk!  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, but our friend Redhawk is planning Rowling's death as we speak, and then her characters will be ours. So keep up with the patience fans.  
Notes: This chapter was written exclusively by our talented sex kitten Redhawk, and I edited cause I'm a satanic control freak who insists upon being call Gdog. Anyway Ron is OOC in this chapter, maybe not so in some peoples opinions. Only because we feel Ron has always been known as one of those poor Weasley kid, that redhead who hangs out with Potter or even just the sidekick to our main character. I mean the emotional strain is enormous! And when Harry tells him what he does, it gives him a way to hurt Harry. To free himself from the label of lapdog and sidekick. Noting GoF, I really felt there was more to his blow up and silent treatment. "Harry Potter always part of the action, the spotlight always on full blast" was the feeling I got and all of these things and the fact it served the story went in to this chapter and Ron's reaction. If you'll note his eagerness to please the chicks he's chatting with and so on. Good night California and all other states im whiich I do not reside.  
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(continued from pg. 2) He's Dead?  
  
I stood yesterday with Harry's closest friend Ron Weasley, a redhead and freckled boy of a usually pleasant disposition. He stands, tears in his eyes, comforted by two female companions, He says little, speaking of the good times with Harry. As Ron leaves, the realization of his friends death too much, he adds:  
  
"I just... I just don't know what happened..." The tears freely flowing. He turns once more and flees. The people closest to the deceased, always wondering if there was something they had done, something they could've done to save the ones they loved...  
  
* * *  
  
"Fags are just asking for it, you know" I raise my voice, making sure the Harry hears my every word.   
  
"Wouldn't have happened to him if he would just find a girlfriend like a normal bloke" They giggle, excited by the scandal of insulting the legendary boy who lived, a taste of glory on there lips, an overly dramamtic red. That's all these girls care for, a step outside of their pointless ordinary into something real for even a moment. Worshipping the boy when he first appears, but not hesitating to turncoat as soon as they acquire some reason. Harry walks briskly past me, keeping his head raised in an attempt to look unharmed, a pitiful attempt to reaffirm his confidence, but tears are plainly visible in his good eye, the other too far damaged to even mourn itself   
  
"Don't cry, Potter" I call after him nastily. I regret my words for a moment, thinking of all the times he's stood up for me. But he deserves to cry. He deserves to hurt. I guess I've become quite spiteful. But what sort of person would accuse his own loving godfather of raping him? Just because he decides to be cock sucker and got more than he asked for, how dare he blame Sirius. Of course, nothing will happen to Sirius. He's dead as far as everyone knows. So, not only is the golden boy dirtied and scarred, he's seemingly quite insane. He hasn't breathed a word of accusation since the night he told me. I made sure he wouldn't. Friendship is always a strange thing.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry had been gone for weeks, failing to return to school at the end of winter break. This of course sent the wizarding world in to a frenzy. When he finally came back to Hogwarts, and woke me up in our dormitory ...  
  
"Harry, God, what's wrong?" I jumped in my bed as he staggered in, his eye dripping blood and retinal fluid, scars disfiguring his face "What happened to you?"   
He sobbed, collapsing in my arms. I hugged him lightly, uncomfortable at so much contact, part fear of injuring further, part fear of touching him in general, but willing to comfort my best friend.  
  
"S-sirius...he.."  
  
"Sirius? What is it, Harry? What is it?" I held him out from me, shaking him slightly, but his sobs only grew worse.  
  
"He...He... raped me..." I laughed unconsciously. I didn't know it at the time, but he deserved that laugh. I couldn't believe it. The stupid fag, daring to tell me that Sirius would do something like that. He looked up at me, stricken "Its true, Ron, look at me..." He raised a shaking hand to his eye. He looked so frail, fingers trembling, body wracked with sobs.  
  
"Something happened to you Harry, I can see that but I can't believe Sirius would do that-"  
  
"He did Ron..." he leaned closer trying to find something to hold in the darkness of the dorms. I shook my head   
  
"Harry, calm down, explain what happened..."  
  
"I told you, Ron, He raped me! He did..., he-"  
  
"Stop it harry, Sirius is no fag." nasty tone entered my voice, angry that he would keep insisting on that terrible lie, accusing one of the few people who truly cared for him.  
  
"Stop talking like that, you don't know that you're talking about!" he almost said it, the look in his eye's was that of pure terror. He let it slip. I jerked back, shocked by both his tone of voice and what he was admitting. My arms still around him. He leaned forward, planting his split lips, covered with tears and clotting blood, on mine.  
  
"I..., I..., I, huh  
  
"Why won't you believe me..." His unharmed arm wrapping around me, relieved I hadn't rejected him completely. And I stared back, what was doing here? This person, his arm around me, this faggot throwing around accusations like rose petals. No. This person was my friend? In my shocked state I saw, I saw what I what I had to. I feel no remorse. I shoved him away, off my bed. He cried out as he hit the floor, its hard stone jarring half healed wounds and his broken arm.  
  
"How dare you?!" I spat at him in a truly insidious tone. Why is it I feel so..betrayed? His only response was to curl up in a ball, muttering softly. My curiosity getting the better of me, I leaned down next to him in all his filth, to catch the softly and desperately murmured words  
  
"...I'm sorry, I'm sorry I thought you'd understand. I'm sorry,.. I'm sorry, please don't touch me anymore..." I stood up quickly, disgusted, and kicked him hard in the back   
  
"I wouldn't dream of it." Laying back down on my bed and pulling the blankets over me, I closed my eyes to trying to sleep, to figure out what I had just discovered but his sobs kept me awake. He lay there all night, stifling his cries. Those tears brought up so many thoughts and memories in me, but mostly, a cold satisfaction. Tangible and wholly palpable. I was free of all of this.   
  
I was finally out of the shadow of this golden boy.  
  
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Review please! pleeeez c'mon I'm beggin you! Begging! Did I write Ron   
OOC ? Well yeah duh! I explained!I'll never say cause....! That's all folks. 


	6. The Revolver Spirits

Chapter 5: The Revolver Spirits  
Disclaimers: No, I own them now, so fuck off! Well in addition to Jerry Potter, I've recently purchased Fraco Duvoi. (well there is a D in there.) We'll get the real thing soon. Rowling, lock you windows tonight. (*obscene gesture*)  
Notes: Well this isn't exactly a long chapter but, whatever, no one is this reading anyway, sigh. Anyway, me and red here went to see Blood Work today with Clint Eastwood, it was good, we laughed through it. such the homoerotic fairy tale. HEH! this is another draco chapter. dun worry we'll explain later.  
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It always feels like we're running together.  
  
  
  
That dizzy dancing feel in the air. Impossible clarity in the oxygen molecules whistling past you face as you spin.   
  
  
The blurry surreal sensation, absence of gravity and thought. You watch him spin. all around you. Clothes whipping about him, limbs flailing too fast to see. Just this anonymous deity, spinning all about you. All you see is him, all about you, enveloping. My second skin. Velocity's neon tornado, this emerald whirlwind.  
  
I feel like we're spinning all the time.  
  
I honestly feel so together now, so whole. No longer is there this nagging, pulling sinkhole in my head. No longer such urgency, such angry need. I'm spinning, and there is nothing but him and the sky. No longer do I hear his voice, just gales of laughter and the  
security in youth. It's a memory, a artifact of someone long gone, and his life isn't mine anymore. I hope.  
  
I know only the feel of his hand, the taste of his lips, the smell of his hair.  
  
"No son of mine will ever be a faggot." I can't hear the words anymore, like atrophied joints, they lose their potency. Keep on spinning in your arms, in your touch and behind these eyes. But all things can heal, and all things such as joints and spiteful words can be roused, reawakened. But I can't care, here, in this embrace. This rapturous dance.  
  
Now I lie beside him. My attentions on the boy beside me. My fingers trace the patterns, the remembrance of misery's design, tattoos and graffiti, inked by blood and steel. These days, everything leaves a mark. So like my own incisions, coiled around my wrists like his fingers, he rubs them with his palms as I thrust into him. Nights like that, when the skin feels too dirty, the only thing one can do is unleash something, some secreted frustration, some unseen emotion. Some dismal wish I cannot speak of. I wanted to see, if "I" was still whole.  
  
  
"Were you?"  
"I don't know anymore."  
  
  
I have to wonder, does he see past these ugly reminders? Or with them. How can he not? Harry still won't tell me who did this. Naming the culprit "he", "him", an endless string of gender stricken titles. Sometimes, he just goes silent, with a blank expression on that still so beautiful face of his. A simple and sad look in his eyes. Harry seems so vulnerable in this state. Open, spilling himself on to the floor below, all vaulted fears and worries. They snap him like a twig, and he becomes this empty concrete creature. I beg and plead to unhearing ears. He wakes. He always wakes, explaining it away. I always act as I do, on my knees my head in my hands, driven by terrible possibility. What if he doesn't come back this time. Have we only begun to see the damage of his encounter with this nameless rapist? It's never a fear of being alone, as self absorbed as I might sound. It's of losing him, and this blasphemous euphoria he instills. Love, if you can call it that. A word pimped to the point of permanent cliché. I'll call it love, none the less. Love, the incarnation of his touch ands voice.   
  
Yes I love Harry and I think, just maybe, I could finally be happy. But still despite how fast I spin, I know the voice. It's still there. Somewhere. Holding it's breath for the moment. No son of mine will ever be a sniveling depraved cocksucker he would always say. Could I be wrong? What's worse of these things, waiting for your voice, or Harry's to go silent. To sense your ominous presence, just beyond the rim of my thoughts. And the fear, coated with the green of Harry's eyes, is the fear just the same.  
  
And I could, just keep on spinning, wash away all these things. Exorcize myself with the sound of harry crying out my name. These unnamed demons and insidious voices. No more will I let myself sink, here beside you. And I'll stay with you, here, in my arms tonight. The place we both so sorely need for you to be. But I can see it, even now, in this blissful state, it teeters above some impossible void. This isn't going to last. We can be in love, for as long as we can manage. Someday the spinning will stop, and we'll hit the ground hardest. Toppled by my ineptitude and worthless, selfish tears. We'll be the lovers slain, the irreparable martyrdom. We can be in love... We can be in love... We can be in love... We can be in love...  
  
  
I feel like we're spinning all the time.  
Though the ground is getting so much closer... 


	7. The Things We Never Say

Chapter 6: The Things We Never Say  
By Vahn and Redhawk  
  
Disclaimers: We still don't own them, let's face it, it was lucky Redhawk was even able to slip me this chapter from her holding cell. I don't think we'll be owning them any time soon.  
Notes: A short Hermoine chapter here. Written completely (excluding the he's dead part) by redhawk herself. This starts when Hermoine slapped Draco in Chapter One: Remember. Um ... huh. Yeah I actually got a signed review beside my own! Hurrah! Questions are answered at the bottom. i promise a long chapter soon! dumdy dumdy da!  
  
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He's Dead?  
  
And one Ms. Hermione Granger, obviously once quite smitten with Harry, cries out through a tortured sob.   
  
"I never told him how much I cared." as is the tragedy of such a sudden death.  
  
* * *  
  
The sharp noise of the slap resounds through the room, he stares back at me, shocked. I bow my head. And I run, tears blearing my eyes. Fleeing from the cruel boy, that cretin. How dare he handle Harry's things? He didn't know him, didn't love him, like I did. How dare he see Harry in his shame, he who only degraded him when he lived and doesn't even give a damn now that he's dead. He has no right. None. I stagger against a wall. How dare he… He never knew anything about Harry, probably laughed at those horrible wounds… I press a hand to my face; almost to be sure it's still there, I'm still whole. I hated those horrible scars, marring his moon pale face, his pretty green eye slashed in an X as if to signify treasure beneath it. But after that, there wasn't the wealth Harry had possessed, there was no self, no beautiful brave honorable boy… and I still don't know how and why they were inflicted...  
  
* * *  
  
"Gods, Harry!" I leapt to my feet, dropping the volume that had been in my lap onto one of my feet at the sight of his wounds. Wincing in the pain, but not pausing, knowing Harry must be in so much more. "Harry what happened? You must have been in some fight to be in this shape, I hope you haven't done anything illegal" He fell forward, blood spraying onto my clean robes as he landed before me, his ruined eye, exposed by a light it could no longer comprehend, shining upward like a beacon, an accusation. A hand flies to my mouth, covering a silent gasp. What happened, this isn't Harry, not my Harry, can't be… But it is… I kneel beside him as he sobs, drawing him into my arms and stroking his hair, stiff with blood…and a white liquid I cannot identify. I touch my wand to the wounds, met with a resistance I've never encountered before… someone really wanted these to remain as they are, to forever scar his face, lower him in the eyes of all his adoring fans. What people can't deal with doesn't exist to them. They slowly heal, reduced to a pattern of white scars, his eye destroyed, split. I can tell it will always be that way. Instead of calming as his pain lessens he only sobs harder, burying his face into my chest, something I would normally have enjoyed very much. "Harry, what's happened…?" He shakes his head silently, mouthing no, no, no. And I hold him closer.  
  
* * *  
  
That was the last time Harry and I were together, as he sobbed openly in my arms, a crime committed against his soul that no being could ever uncover. He avoided me after, maybe to avoid my questions, maybe out of shame; maybe he simply hated me for having healed his hurts, stopping him from dying that night. And I think each day of all the things I could never tell you. All the things I'd stifled deep inside myself. All the embittered memories, the things I can't remember about you.   
  
The exact color of your eyes.  
The way you used to smile at me.  
The confident voice and assured walk.  
  
And most of all, the way you would make feel, like I was something wonderful. That I was so much more than I ever thought I could be. I know now, with you gone.  
  
I can never be wonderful again, without your eyes on me. I can't be what you made me feel. I can never be...  
  
But I will always remember him, like that, crying, hot tears soaking my chest, mixing with blood to create a dye, leaving my breasts pink for days afterward, instead of as the wonderful boy he was, my friend, my… love. I loved him. I still love you Harry.  
  
  
  
  
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:In response to three reviews (uh thank god.):   
  
  
1) The chronological order is messed up cause all of this is memory, and memory does not flow smoothly or in a straight line. Plus you have to take in to account the different people here, and how their memories of certain events might differ. As well as what triggers them, we understand this isn't apparent to everybody since we haven't had a chance to develop it.   
  
2) And yes Draco slept with Harry after the he had been raped, noting Harry only did this after months of a emotional rehabilitation/ becoming friends with Draco and the earning of his trust(which will come in to play), but there's as usual something else the in the background I cannot say.   
  
3) Ron stuff: I've always seen Ron as a fairly nice person, so this wasn't about bashing him. Anyway Ron we feel has always been known as one of those poor Weasley kids, that redhead who hangs out with Potter or even just the sidekick to our main character. I mean the emotional strain is enormous! And when Harry tells him what he does, it gives him a way to hurt Harry. To free himself from the label of lapdog and sidekick. Noting GoF, I really felt there was more to his blow up and silent treatment. "Harry Potter always part of the action, the spotlight always on full blast" was the feeling I got and all of these things and the fact it served the story went in to this chapter and Ron's reaction. In the kind of environment when children will stomp you for the betterment of their own self esteem. He's screwed. And in my opinion he seems like the type to eventually resent that in his friend Harry. Of course I'm not calling him a jump at it turncoat but I feel gradually he'd become jealous. And this was his chance to reinvent himself, even if it meant spitting in the eye of his friendship. We didn't mean to write him as a sadistic bastard (which I agree we kinda turned him into.) but we felt we wrote him as a one driven by a need to free himself. He snapped, harry trying to kiss him didn't help either. It gave him reason to hurt harry, in his eyes I mean. He could finally get out. And you might notice how he's socially rewarded for stabbing his friend in the back (rewarded? I dunno..."  
  
4) And as for Sirius, you'll see.  
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Anyway, I got a review from Ru Av Natten (laughs maniacally, hurrah! ^_^ ) , whoop di do! And now I hope you do to! Review me! 


	8. Splintered Gemini

Chapter 7: Splintered Gemini  
by Vahn and Redhawk.  
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Disclaimer: Nope I own em now! They are mine. I bought J.k Rowling out!  
Notes: er another short one. Sorry. I wrote this one all by myself cause me and my partner aren't on speaking terms or something right now. I don't know *sobs* but I really like this one for some odd reason since it's not the best but. I dunno.  
  
ZetaReticuli: OH thank you so much! *bows hysterically* Gah I love you so much. Check out the blimp, nice talking to you. Ed Gein is tragic isn't he.  
  
Ru Av Natten: Finally decided to come around HUH! well better late than never. even though I review you like every single time the day a chapter comes out! i'm just kinda on edge. I DON"T HAVE ANY REVIEWS! maybe I'd get more if I wasn't mean to those who do review. heheh, thanks alot! (no seriously)  
  
Goddess of wombats: Well well well, here it is. TWO chapters for yeh, you and Zeta were my sole incentive for inspiration. thanks for the growl *pockets it* and a sfar as revews go and acknowledgeemnt. I LOVE YOU!! hahahha, kidding, enjoy it anyway.  
  
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Is this the truth? Scrawled on the walls in an unfamiliar hand? How long have I laid here, thinking of you, of us. When we were the cohesive being, synchronized in the sound of our pulse. No subtle taint, no vague obscured nightmare shifting, no drifting awkward wickedness. When did it become clear, things were falling apart. Or rather when I allowed myself to lose my balance, to topple. Throwing our precarious dance to the floor. Where we would proceed to tear our hearts from our chests, feeding each other our resentment and frustration.   
  
When did we become one person? And harder yet, when did I detach myself from you. Leaving you naked and exposed in that empty bed, embraced by tense air and cold sheets. Where did love lead me then?  
  
I cannot blame you for your cruel manipulations, nor can I resist the urge to indulge myself in the need to tear your throat out. D. a. d. d. y. The letters string themselves across the walls. Was it you who taught me to hate you as I do?   
  
* * *  
  
My son crosses his legs. Contemplating the Peruvian marble. Lips pressed together, thin and tight.  
  
"Now that both Potter and Voldemort are out of the picture, it's our chance-" a snort, you shake your head, blonde hair covers your face, you laugh softly.   
  
"You just don't get it..."  
  
"What are you talking about? Don't you see? This is what we've been waiting for since the very beginning!" You look up at me, disgusted, those azure eyes full of contempt. they barely focus on me.  
  
"I want nothing to do with your plans or you, you sick manipulative bastard." You announce quietly, with the trademark icy demeanor of a Malfoy. Stretching each syllable like a rubber band. How dare this person call himself my son, this disgusting faggot.  
  
"How dare you speak to me like that, you insolent little brat, you ingrate! I'll make you eat your words!" you get up to leave, ignoring me. My son has nerve. you reach the door, taking small delicate steps, relishing in the moment no doubt.   
  
"How is it you can try and act like a father to me with straight face, after all these years. Year after fucking year of neglect! How can you?!" His voice insidious and vehement. He grabs a bowl of the table and hurls it at me. He's got the aim of four year old girl. He tosses plates and vases. Anyhting he can grab that will break. With a final crash of a antique bust, a final protest before sliding down the wall, in to the pile of porecelain and glass beside my feet. With a final disgusted glance and teary sigh, you turn to leave this place forever.  
  
"If you walk out on us now - what am I talking about?! Even Harry Potter himself has helped us more in death then you ever could! Leave, leave, leave you stupid faggot!" You stop, your hand on the knob, you turn, a malevolent gleam in your eye.  
  
"I'm going to kill you father." and in the moments after the words hit my ears, the doors shuts and you're gone. A angry memory, an empty space. And more than I'd like to admit, You're so much like your father...  
  
* * *  
  
I walk away from the symbol of my afflictions, ruin and reckless decay. And with it all the times I've tried to fight, to disprove all the things you've said, to refute my destiny. What is my destiny now? With this hollowness, this broken void. Where Harry once stood. Like a severed limb, it twitches and festers. Where you once stood is this bruised purpled sore, this violet crater.   
  
And now, severed is the only word. Detached, free of all the bindings and cementing, utterly, exquisitely free. Free of every single piece of anything that held me together. I feel like that mirror you broke that day. You threw me in to it. Fracturing the silver surface. It became my tool, writing your name on my wrists. Swallowing the chill of my loathing, and that night I prayed to know it's significance. I learned over time, as did the mirror crumble over the years. Falling victim to gravity and the spiral of anguish that seems to reside here. Now I stand outside the place that was my home, the splintered Gemini. The pain is exquisite and tangible as your mutilated corpse and the tragedy of blurring birth and death. Though I know everything has fallen apart, breaking up and breaking down. Things seems so much more lighter, like the hunger of a child, starved to death.  
  
  
  
And now I have to ask. Where will love lead us now?  
  
  
  
  
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REVIEW PLEASE, Wont someone take pity on a poor author who's computer insists on calling HIM, Chelsea? hm? hm? hm? REVIEW! 


	9. In The Spiral of Anguish

Chapter 8: In the Spiral of Anguish  
by Vahn Thorren and Redhawk  
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Disclaimers: *sits and glares*  
Notes: Me and Red both agree this was the most difficult chapter, girl sex...er. I don't think any of you were expecting this. Stupid emotionally dellusional Draco had to go be his father's son. sonfabitch Luicius. well this is where the spinning stops, sorry (wonders why they just can't let them be happy.)  
  
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Her name was Lisa. Lisa Turpin, to be more accurate.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well well, someone's eag-" I shut her up, pushing her face in to my lap, shoving my cock between her painted lips.   
  
"Shut the fuck up" I buck my hips, she swallows me, inhales me. Absolutely brilliant. Draco Malfoy is no fag. I pull her head from my crotch, fingers threaded, deeply invested, in Lisa's auburn tresses, though seeing only unruly black locks. I angle her neck, devouring the flesh. My tongue sliding past those lips, tinted so heavily I almost choke. Doesn't matter. I don't stop, she moans as I slip a finger into the mouth of the beast she cages between her legs. I'm not a fag. I'm not a fag. She loves me. I tear that barely existent bra of hers off he back, tossing it on to my near by desk.  
  
* * *  
  
The only thing I can say in my defense is that she had fantastic tits. Or so everyone said. I could never really say.  
  
* * *  
  
My hand circles a nipple, digging my nails into it. She cries out, filling me with a sick sort of satisfaction. I am no ass fucking queer. Thrusting my fingers deep inside her, drawing them out and licking her juices off despite the tremor of revoltion I feel as I do so. What am I doing? His voice rips through my head "Faggot, useless waste of my seed. If I ever find you involved in this filth again you'll get worse than a beating" I bite down hard on my finger, blood rushing out and dripping onto my stomach. I force a smile of satisfaction as she cleans the blood off, then lean down to kiss her, smearing my own lips red with both her lipstick and my own claret stains. I position myself above her, my mouth dropping down to one of her hard nipples sucking hard as I thrust into her, above her, ruling her, controlling her "You are Draco Malfoy. My son. You will amount to greatness. Even if I must beat it in to you." As I climax I feel tears pricking my eyes. Did I make you proud, father? Do you love me now? I resign myself, let her perfect flesh rearrange itself. Distorting itself in his image. Countless lacerations, all I see is him. She wraps him around herself, a coat, a covering. What am I doing?  
  
And on que, the twisted, vicious fates unleashed their fury on me for my idiocy. I saw him, bracing himself against the door frame. I saw Harry, his eyes filling with unshed tears. He opens his mouth to speak when he sees me looking back at him, no words come out. He turns and runs.   
  
  
  
Fuck.  
  
  
  
  
I jump, running after him in a few moments, dressing myself as I sprint after him. He'd always been faster. I catch up quickly though, pushing him in to the nearest empty room.  
  
"You were, I- you bastard!" He backs away from, his anger almost keeping his tears at bay. He's breathing hard as he would had I punched him in the stomach. I have in a sense.  
  
"I-it's not-I've been such a fo-"  
  
"Shut up! Shut up" SHUT UP! This ploy of yours or whatever this is, is over!" He gestures at the space between us. Harry moves towards the door.  
  
"Harry please sto-"  
  
"Don't touch me."  
  
"You don't understand, I-" more stupid selfish tears.  
  
"If you ever touch me again I swear I'll kill you," He succeeds in shoving me aside, opening the door, all of which happened in one clean swipe.  
  
"Harry..." He stops, looking over his shoulder.  
  
"You didn't mean to hurt me?" his voice shaking "I don't think they ever do." He turns around, "I'm such a fool aren't I?" He chuckles, it doesn't stop the sobs, cracking his voice and his chance to leave with dignity. "To think someone like you could ever love me, let alone look at something as hideous as me." he shakes his head at that, looking me straight in the eye. I'm prone, speechless and paralyzed. My tongue cut out by his words. He just stands there, and cries slowly. I can't meet his gaze. He turns once more, and takes a few, unsteady, unsure steps before bracing himself against a wall. A sharp cry breaching his final attempt to leave with any sort of poise. He just keeps walking. And I stand here and bathe myself in my mistakes, and of course, more stupid tears. More stupid selfish tears for myself and my regrets. Something new here, it's the knowledge, I truly have lost something. And it is for once, all my fault.   
  
I can't cry for myself now. All these things, fathers voices, Harry's eyes and the watchful switch blade, patient in the negative space of the imagery, the ground beneath me eats it all up.  
  
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review Review REVIEW! 


	10. Razor Blade Prince

Chapter 9: Razor Blade Prince  
By Vahn and Vahn alone (though Redhawk is speaking to me again. (YIPEE)  
Disclaimer: well I've got nothing to say.  
Notes: Every other * * * is a time jump. It starts off in the past, then present. This goes on and off. Until the present segments end, and they become a narrative of a farther back past, a memory. Sorry if it's confusing.  
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No. Love is surely no godsend. No extraterrestrial blessing, no fallen stars. not even as necessary as oxygen we breath without thought, every other second of our existence. Love is an addiction, an affliction. Love is a narcotic, with windswept pull and reckless, orbital high. Carving out the marrow of you bones, making you light and airy. Smearing your incandescent, angel dust spirits across the walls. Love is a withdrawal, feel it drain from you veins, burning thoughts like dry leaves. Hazy glowing, the radiant nightmare.  
  
You were what I saw, running through the twisted halls, snaking, winding themselves around each other. You were what I saw, tear streaked face and murdered love. Over lapping and bending in my haste to find you. With your words on my ear, writing themselves across the senses.  
  
'To think someone like you could ever love me, let alone look at something as hideous as me.'  
  
The lengths to which I'd go, to prove I didn't love you, that it wasn't me at all. This person who'd kiss you, and tell you he'd love you, and wouldn't stop. That it was all farce, impostors and flimsy lies. This wasn't me was all I could say. No one would ever believe me, all the time I'd spent making myself someone else, was time I didn't have. and now, no one will see me like they had, and none will believe. Not even myself. Pious spiteful Malfoy has been reduced to me, this whimpering, self defeated lover. I'm on the verge of frenzy. So keep on running, watching the corridors melt on the soles of my shoes.   
  
* * *  
  
I'm sitting on a bench in some train station, in the district of who knows where. With my suitcase and this train arrival schedule. There are rumors that the body they're using at the 'viewing' isn't even yours. Just an illusion they're using to cover you. People are saying it's because they couldn't find a body. Others, in whispered hush, say there wasn't enough left to show. And these stupid hopefuls tell me you're still alive. What fools.  
  
* * *  
  
I watch Harry from across the great hall. All these things, the stitches keeping us intact, have been sheared with such malicious force. And by my very own hand no less. And these things I remembered have become blurry and obtuse. All the solid matter, every tepid molecule, all of them buzzing. In flux, and my hand feels like it'll just pass through. No definition, no composition. Just frivolous cells, jumping up and down, running in circles. Sensations missing acute potency, and the world itself, my victim. Harry glares at me with his turned back. He hasn't spoken to me since it happened. To little has been said. Rightly so.   
  
* * *  
  
I'm on the end of my tether. It's strange these delicate straps haven't snapped under the pressure, under all this time. Contemplating the imaginary ropes around my waist, watching the people walk by. The all seem like they have places to go, meetings to attend, whores to fuck. Me and my bench, this scrap of paper half paced suitcase. I've felt so aimless these days.  
  
* * *  
  
"I don't want to hear it Malfoy, frankly I'm not in the mood." his voice scares me like nothing else. It stings with such ease, it sounds like someone I used to know. He's learned this voice from me. My eyes are pleading, and these thoughts are bleeding. We were still born children in a sense. And now, I've cut you out of the womb. Freed us. We died before we ha a our first breath of air.  
  
"It wasn't like that! I di-" I'll keep on trying, and trying and trying. And you'll ignore me. Push me back away, and pretend nothing has happened here between us. Rightly so.  
  
* * *  
  
I have it in my bag. That slice of mirror. I took it after Hermoine stormed out on the last day of school. I had given it to you after the first time we made love. Huh. There I go again with the pink lens.   
  
Well, I gave it you, on some morbidly romantic whim. I had cut myself with that shiny piece of glass every night for about a month I think. My father had caught me ogling some man's ass or something like that. I can't really remember anymore. It was something small like that. Well dear old pop taught me a lesson about perversion of the sort. The thing I find really odd now, for with time brings objectivity, how he had this terrible five o' clock shadow. I had noticed this when he had thrown me in to a fire place. Burnt my palm before I scrambled out trying not to cry in front of him. You were walking away. And so I grabbed a sliver of that mirror that you broke with my skull the moment the last guest had collected themselves and left. I lunged and you, succeeded in cutting my fingers with my grip and tearing the front of your silk shirt. Father just gave me this look and pushed me off, I thought he was going to leave. I was relieved and mortified when I found myself crying. I barely felt the chair hit the side of my head, only the blood leaking out of my fractured skull on to the spotless marble floor. The stain's still there.  
  
* * *  
  
I consider barging in to your room. Taking back what I had given to you. Which seems hypocritical considering you had no way of retrieve everything I took from you. Besides the point, had I seen you doing your work, lying on your bed. Not Speaking, I would've broken right there, started crying and humiliating myself. I've been doing a lot of that lately anyway. I hate crying in front of you like that.  
  
* * *  
  
So I decided to spite Luicius. I had quite a few rosy fantasies about him finding me, swinging from the rafter in my bed room. With a broken neck and delicate wrists covered in merciless gashes. And I'd imagine you tearful, sobbing and regretful. Of ever hurting me, touching me. But of course, that would ~never~ happen. Even if I were to suspend myself in such a fashion, you wouldn't give my corpse a second though. Just a disdainful glance, and with a snap of your fingers I'd be removed from the premises. I think that made me angrier. It all just made me hate you more.  
  
* * *  
  
"What was it then, your clothes disappeared and you happened to trip and fuck her?" It kills me to know I've done this to you, why does someone wonderful like you always get stepped on by people like me? God, I've been such a fool. You can't forgive me, how can you forgive any of us?  
  
* * *  
  
Strangely I don't feel anything other than a dull sting. Not much blood is coming out, I'd always imagined there would be more. Spreading out across pale flesh, sliding and dripping. Sheared capillaries and nothing but released, stagnant blood. I want to feel more than what he's given me. I press hard on the slit. Willing the blood from my body, just wishing to get him out of my veins, wanting, needing so desperately. I'll smear it across the walls. Show him everything, I want so much for him to know. How he's stolen me. Educate the father of his son, smear his genes. This unwanted symbol of a one night stand. Paint his 'love' with the very soul he's given me. Make daddy see everything...  
  
* * *  
  
"God Harry, I'm sorry! I don't know what else to say! It wasn't like that, I never meant"  
  
"For me to find out, well I did and I'm asking you nicely to get the fuck away from me!" You sniffle and try and wrest your arm from my grip. I don't let go.  
  
"Would you let me finish? I don't know what else to do, I've tried everything to ma-" I say, stuttering.  
  
"Well I can see you're sorry, but that doesn't mean anything."  
  
"How ca-" he cuts me off again, starting to cry, breathing fast and trying desperately to keep his lungs full.  
  
"You threw it all away, not me! You can't make it up to me. You just can't!" his fingernails dig in to my wrist, aligning themselves with a prior wound of similar birth. You pull my hand off and run. as fast as you possibly can, tears all over his face. He rubs them away covering his face with my blood and betrayal  
  
* * *  
  
I know it'll scar. I make a twin, a companion wonder on my right wrist. It's sketchy, shallow. I'm right handed. I press as hard as I can. I have this dream, this fancy, that I could hollow myself completely, cut out every piece of him. Every mean word, every sadistic touch, every hateful look, every single ruined memory. Purge him from my body, scratch him out of every picture. And sooner or later I'll be free of him and this house and these scars.  
  
* * *  
  
I stand there for a moment, hours maybe. Time has trickled by, like the veins have run themselves dry. I don't cry. I am my father's son after all.  
  
* * *  
  
A glorious stain on the wall. This is my memoir, hideous and disfigured, it's beautiful. Raw and violent, like concentrate of memory that aren't mine at all. The child of our love, Luicius and I. This is glory and awe of father and son.  
  
* * *  
  
I head back to the dungeons. I just want to sleep, and be thoughtless for a few hours. And just let go of all this pettiness and Harry's face when he saw me with Lisa. To just leave this place, which is reaching the dismal high or rather low of my life. I open the door. Just crisp silence like folding paper. I collapse, falling face first on to the bed. Inhaling the scent of down and my own shampoo. His hair too. Fuck.  
  
* * *  
  
I'm sitting in the darkest corner of my room. Rubbing my wrists angrily, I have no idea why. I'm just angry at myself, I don't know why I feel this way either. Just secured in the havoc of this spinning room. I rub my eyes, they're itching and dry. I succeed only in blinding myself.   
  
Daddy's footsteps on the stairs. I lie down, curling in to fetal position.   
  
Daddy's footsteps in the hall. I was born just like this, wrapped around myself, trying to hide. My sight stolen by a membrane of my own flesh covering my face. Does the blood intend to shield me or deprive me, what were the intentions of the caul. With my father waiting patiently outside as my mother damn her soul, brought me kicking a screaming in to this world. Is it the same know, was the caul a blindfold to keep me from his disappointment. So I would never see, he couldn't love me. And still he stands right outsides, with nothing but antique mahogany between us.  
  
Daddy's hand on the door knob. I'll make him see his son, and what his love has made of me.  
  
* * *  
  
I recognize a thin layer of sound, just beneath the dreamy silence. It's drifting from the key hole and crevices of the room. It's in the adjacent dorm. I get up to investigate, already knowing what I'll find. Must they be so loud, some of us do enjoy sleeping at night?  
  
* * *  
  
It turns, the door opens with a decisive click. It swings wide open, and I can see him, his silhouette before the threshold.  
  
* * *  
  
Harry's arms, bound to the bed post with pliable leather straps.   
  
Crabbe thrusting impatiently, moaning in his ecstasy.  
  
Goyle, his arms around Harry, face nestled in his neck. Biting and murmuring thinks I cannot hear.  
  
Harry eyes wide open, not shocked by my entrance. His eyes fixated on me, where the blank door once stood under his gaze. He's been waiting for me to come here and find him. He smiles sadly over Greg's shoulder, and I stand there, watching without really seeing.  
  
* * *  
  
The door stands ajar and he is gone. He takes this from me, unwilling to even acknowledge my pain. I sit disheveled and spattered in blood, the father is gone.  
  
* * *  
  
"Harry..."  
  
* * *  
  
The doorway is naked, and I am the razor blade prince.  
  
  
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Note: The tittle 'razor blade prince' had to do with disasscociative tendencies, which allow a person to who suffers huge traumas to continue to function. In this case, he was giving himself power by saying it was his domain, it made Draco feel as though he was in control of all the things that happened to him, that way he wasn't being violated and abused, if he was controlling it. Anyhoo, what have I done with the couple. I promise this is going somewhere better.  
  
Ru Av Natten: yes well what did this chapter do for the 'god Draco what's wrong with you' anger. Looks like Harry's trying to get back at him. Such terrible fighting, wouldn't it be nice if they could just screw? hee hee  
  
Goddess of Wombats: Well, yes Harry tells Draco about Sirius during their 'reconciliation'. Yes this will have a happy ending and yes someone is sure as hell dyin'. Can you guess who?  
  
PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE! I need 'em or I'll stop writing, I swear it! ADVERTISE ME IF YOU HAVE FICS! Anybody! Anybody! *sobs* 


	11. Fragile Prophecy

Chapter 10: Fragile Prophecy  
by Vahn  
  
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He stopped crying hours ago...  
  
Sallow flesh, battle field of memories. Pale blue veins hide themselves beneath thin tapestry.  
  
Delicate bones, hollow and light like a birds. They look as if I could snap them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I break him in to pieces...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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HEE HEE, this being the speacial edition of Blight, you get special chapters previously unavailable to the public. that was one of em By the way if you've read my fic already, check back for new back chapters and revisons. 


	12. Come Undone

Chapter 11: Come Undone  
By Vahn and only Vahn God Damn It  
Notes: By far saddest chapter of 'em all, don't be to mad with me? sorry the beginning is weird. THIS IS NOT THE END! No flames, please REVIEW!  
  
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Their hands all over him, all around him. Burying him and concealing all which I was supposed to see. He didn't tell them it was his plan I'm sure. I don't care.   
  
Cut them all down. Make their pain sing for me. A broken wrist.  
  
Why am I crying? They shouldn't know. A cracked kneecap  
  
  
Why do I want so much to rip them limb from limb? A fractured rib.  
  
  
Love (Or is it rage?) breaks the bedposts and I drag Harry in to my room. Tossing him on the bed in a anything but a sexual manner. Slamming the door shut with a definite crash, trying so hard to stop myself from slapping him across the face.   
  
"What the fuck were you doing?" I know the answer, I ask anyway.  
  
"What'd look like Draco?" Trying to spite me, you sit back. I don't say anything, running my fingers through my hair, trying not to be angry. Trying not to be the hypocrite I've been turned in to. "Oh come on, this is something you're good at."  
  
"Shut up, shut up, shut up..." I whisper over and over. Shaking my head.  
  
"I was such an idiot, you're just fucking like him! God I would've thought I learned my lesson. Well how does it feel Malfoy, tell me, how does it feel!"   
  
Silence falls like a heavy handed palm.  
  
The blood beneath the skin rushes to the spot, outlining the place I struck him. He falls back on to the bed, looking absolutely terrified. Cowering.   
  
I slapped him across the face. I've actually hit Harry?  
  
"Just like him!" He shies away, afraid I'll hit him again I suppose. Those eyes so filled with anger and fear. So familiar. And that hand print glowing on his face, it seems I've become my father's son after all. My hand makes it's way up to the side of my face. Past it. Searching for the tiny bald spot on my head where a splinter of bone had jutted out. Where that chair had struck, nearly killing me. Harry's crying too now, hugging his legs to his chest, pressing himself against the headboard. Rocking back and forth in slow steady motions. I turn to him, watch his try and stifle his sobs and let him stare back at me.  
  
And we sit like this for hours. Just watching each other cry, and thinking about all the things we'd said and done. Harry forgets to be self conscious, not bothering to cover the constellations of scars. Letting my eyes wash over him. No ugly reminders, just scars. Dozens of exquisite lacerations that sculpted the boy I love. And that's the truth isn't it? And I, this child of disaster and disdain, sired by shrapnel and shame. With my barbed wire bangles and murdered childhood. Just more excuses, and fate written circumstances. Just more reasons I sit here right now. Just more reasons...  
  
"I'm so sorry... just so sorry... I just c..." I whisper as I collect him in my arms. Our lips touch, tentatively, as if this was our first time together. And with it comes a cascade of memories, of the steely gray skies outside my window at home. That day you fell down the stairs and smacked your head on statue and I kissed you until you said you felt better That day on the train when you turned down my friendship. The first time I heard you laugh. All these things come buzzing forth from beneath you skin and touch. All blurring and bending, shifting and sifting about until they become one memory. Vague and familiar all the same. Something you can't remember or say, caught on the edge of you tongue. I think I just found what I'd been looking for. I kiss him again.  
  
He doesn't speak, but everything that can be said, is said. Through slight of hand and meshing skin, brief glances and stolen touches. He devours me. And with every thought, every long repressed caress, is another button of my shirt undone. And my hands, traveling across the expanse of his back, memorizing ever detail, feathery and wind like. I just want to remember him like this. His lips leave mine, making their way to my collar bone his fingers swirling about my chest, drawing little spirals as they descend. I pull him back up to eye level. Both of us half standing on the bed, our knees paralleled. My tongue moves past those lips. He moans as well as one can in to my mouth as my fingers wrap themselves around his erect member. He throws his head back enthralled and ensnared in my touch.   
  
I wonder how many nights I spent, thinking about doing just this. How many nights I denied myself my fantasies. He struggles with himself, barely having the presence of mind to try and undo the buckle of my pants. I wonder where that time went, what I did with my misspent youth?   
Solving the problem for Harry, throwing him backwards on to the bed. He laughs, narrowly missing the head board of the bed. Laughter, innocent and purely joyous. Something he doesn't do often.  
  
Can he be made whole again? Can I?  
  
Hands wander, warm breath scalds gloriously naked flesh. The lights are burning lower, the spaces beneath the candelabra. A wax battlefield. He is mirrored by dying candle sticks. Highlighting sweat slicked skin, each scar a land mark. Souvenirs of places we'd rather forget. I elicit a moan as my tongue traces the outline of his length. He bucks and jerks his hips as my lips close around him. He grips my head with such ferocity, he no doubt pulls out some hair. I swallow him, letting my throat contract around his erection, feeling the airless euphoria wash over me. Slide my hands against the inner thigh of sciossored legs. A heavy gasp as my teeth graze the head of his cock as I draw back for the sake of burning lungs. His fingers drum on my shoulder, I see a satisfied grin, I lick my lips.   
  
And long before I knew the taste of his flesh, before I could comprehend the sway of hips and the smell of his hair. What were we then, as friends? Mere comrades or potential destinies. Is the ground I stand on, does this place belong to me, or have I simply blundered on to nirvana? Is this a risk I can take or even or a risk at all?  
  
He arches his back as my fingers penetrate, deftly weaving mysticism and aching bodies together. I capture that mouth, jawline and lips and teeth. And he speaks to me, the siren's call, a synchronized frenzy.  
  
Is this love, or a bunch of horny, ideological teens? Well, is it?  
  
I thrust as hard as I can mange, pressing myself against him, aligning our bodies.   
  
Something is in my head. It is tiny and it hides. It whispers, and 'maybe' it says, if I try hard enough and maybe if I thrust just a little harder. Just maybe I can shove myself back in to his being. Back inside of Harry. That is what it has said. For so many years know I think I've been deaf, trying to shut it up. And now he is beneath me, writhing as our skin collides, our bodies fusing in to one. That voice in my head, it's voice is getting so much stronger...  
  
* * *  
  
I ask myself now as I get off the train, what did you say to Harry that night. As he took you back in to his arms, and you kissed. What was it you whispered to him, adamant as you could make yourself. What did you say that broke his heart?! He still took you back that night, he let you touch him and hold him anyway! What did you give him in exchange for a good lay and his love?! Well tell me Draco, what did you give tell him that killed him Draco?! Say it!  
  
* * *  
  
He's hugging his legs to his chest now, my arms around him. He's wrapped in silence and thought. You look so whole together. With arms and legs alike, all in proportion and position. But you can't take it back, this is what love has made of you. Of him. But you look so complete now, feeling so solid and concrete. But you are laced with as much novocain as he is laced with scars. It's all lie right? You just can't, it's not possible.  
  
* * *  
  
Tell us?! Say it Draco, say it!  
  
* * *  
  
You tighten your grip on him, afraid to let him go again. Because this will be the last time and you know it. And this is how you will remember him for all the time after you've let him go. Don't we still have time, to forget who we are. To just stay as who we have become. No, there is no time left for the liars.  
  
* * *  
  
"I'm so sorry... just so sorry... I just c...I just... I just...can't love you like you need to be...loved" I whisper as I collect him in my arms. I say it all in one fast breath. Our lips touch, tentatively, as if this was our first time together. We both know it'll be our last.  
We pretend not to care...  
  
* * *  
  
He's sitting up, tears in his eyes, not willing to pretend he isn't hurt. I get up to leave. Pulling my clothes on as I go.  
  
  
  
  
  
"I love you Draco..."  
  
  
  
  
  
I try not to hear him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Sorry, all of you are all probably mad at me. well the plot is unchangeable man. Just can't. Sorry if it was confusing I wrote in a hurry. And this is not the last chapter. Still a lot more to come. THIS IS NOT THE END! Thanks for all the nice reviews. And sorry Hermoine stuff isn't ready, RedHawk refuses to speak to me. Damn it.  
  
  
Oh and guess what, even though this isn't complete and I'm in the process of rewriting Blight totally as I feel there are some seriously shitty parts here. Well I'm going to be posting Blight's companion piece, tentatively dubbed Mercury, is basically Blight from Harry's point of view. And no, it's not a just Harry bitching, it's actually gonna be less bitching than on the part of Draco which blight focuses on. As well added scenes and perspectives and some interesting twists here and there. How do you think Harry really feels about Draco anyhow? Might be surpising... 


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